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12-22-2020, 08:56 AM (This post was last modified: 12-22-2020, 09:01 AM by Arngeir Erlingheim.)
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#1
A R N G E I R
The blooming orange sun beamed down onto the Southlander's coarse fur, the heat soothing and a contrast from the biting frost of Dawnforge. After what seemed like forever, Arngeir had finally finished her traveling from the homeland and stood in Yaruith's capital. The baroness could already hear the bustling of other canines, market places and the casual chatter that was expected from such a populated, almost crowded area. Marble eyes glanced about as the dame continued to make her way through some of the crowd, only stopping at a double crossed road before turning down the less active route, though a generous handful of citizens resided there.

She knew why she had come - to avoid it would be a waste of her time. Was it more of a waste to have come either way? That remained to be seen. Her time in the city-state was prompted by... an old friend, though she had her own wishes to visit it as well. She had last visited when she was merely a pup, dancing around the paws of her tired mother and grandfather who came for supplies during an infestation period.

Even now, Arngeir found herself chuckling at the memory of herself, wobbling like a freshly born fawn, staring at the halls in curiosity. So many memories, so little time to cherish any. It felt like so much time had passed since then.

Flicking her tassle, the norsewoman stopped at the side of the stone path, sitting on the sidelines, like a few others, just watching the citizens zip up and down the streets. So many memories, of the war and of the broken oath. Would meeting her past love's family truly help the situation? She'd heard of the Dysma household, even up North, though only knew a handful of information. The beast wondered if she'd truly taken up the mantle of Matriarch, after all.

There was only one way to know for sure.


@Hypatia
— coded by aureate —

01-02-2021, 06:55 AM (This post was last modified: 01-02-2021, 07:09 AM by Hypatia.)
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#2
The capital was as crawling and infested as ever; people of all walks of life gathered to the streets to continue with their daily commute. Some were off to the market place to trade their wears and goods, while others would start their trek to the dawn-forges and begin their descent into the bowls of the mountainside. Perhaps, today was the day that their mining exertions would prove bountiful, and they'd find a beautiful gem to present to the King of Yaruith. Maybe they would even return to their families with a succulent meal, from the commission they'd no doubtfully deserved after such a finding?

Hypatia took to the streets with no such desire burning at her heals. She had no sense of duty to a family to drive her feet up to the dawn forges, and earn them a full belly, come dinner time every night. Nothing pushed her beyond the reaches of the capital; even the small unit of soldiers she commanded held nothing to desire. Hypatia was plagued with a powerful melancholia, that never seemed to discontinue it's hinderance. Though, she tried to push forward from the heavy weight it bared on her. Everyone was beginning to give up on the young templar captain. Even she, had felt their attempt to aid her would prove fruitless.

Hypatia didn't know what else could be done?

Soon her house would strip her of her titles and properties; completely ridding themselves from the stain on their halls. They had already stripped Hypatia from seizing her place as the Matriarch of the family household; offering the title to some naïve babe, in her stead. Anger and grief swelled in the Dysma woman's breast. She had worked so hard in her endeavors for her household and as a soldier. For what? To throw it all away for a woman she had met while on deployment? She tried not to think of her, even now. Years had passed since their last encounter; yet sadness still took hold of her like a plague.

Hypatia wondered, had the world been kind to her after all this time? It pained the templar captain to think anything had burdened her over the years. And her melancholia returned, at the thought of not having spent that time with her.

“Speaking”

CODE & ART BY Whiskey


@arngeir erlingheim

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